The Heavenly Surrender (19 page)

Genieva dabbed at her own tears. It was a personal moment for them both, so she excused herself with, “I need to get back to Brevan.”

Yet Genieva knew Brevan would not need her at home. No. Ever diligent, ever hardworking, Brevan would be out tending to his crops or his stock or fixing something in need of fixing. As Genieva truly had no rapturous desire to tend to her own chores, she rather ambled along the dirt path leading her home from Brian and Lita’s house. The rain had breathed freshness and color to every flower and tree along the path. Thus Genieva felt a smile on her face as she watched a small striped chipmunk scamper through the wildflowers.

As she strolled somewhat lingeringly, she thought of the depth of the love Brian and Lita shared. She had seen it in their eyes many times since coming to live with Brevan—but never so obvious, nor as earnest, as it was that morning. She understood Lita’s frantic desire to protect her husband and his brother. She would’ve done no less to protect them both. It touched her immensely to think of Brian’s instant understanding. He had not scolded or tormented Lita for what she had allowed her father and brothers to think of her. He had recognized her sacrifice for his sake.

Genieva reached down and plucked a wild daisy, studying it intently as she thought of Brevan and how wonderful it would be should he ever look at her the way Brian looked on Lita. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the expression that might be apparent on Brevan’s face were he to know she had made such a sacrifice of her moral reputation on his behalf. Still, a vision of what his expression would be should she confess to him having withheld the truth about what had happened with Cruz in the orchard played itself more vividly before her eyes instead.

“Do you dream of me, niña?”

Genieva gasped—opened her eyes to see Cruz approaching. He walked toward her, leading a black horse by the reins.

“Don’t come near me,” she warned him, her heart hammering brutally within her chest. How would she avoid him? She knew he meant her harm.

“Oh. You are hurting my feelings, señora,” he whined, putting his hand to his chest and scowling. “I do not mean to harm you.”

“Then walk on. Leave me alone.”

“I do not mean to harm you at all. What I mean for you is much more pleasant, niña,” he explained, lunging at her suddenly and taking hold of her wrist. Genieva cried out as he twisted her arm, holding it firmly against her back as he whispered, “I mean to pay your esposo. I mean to return the favor he did my sister. She carries his bebé, no? Sí. You know it is true.” Genieva tried to struggle, but he twisted her arm more violently, causing tears to swell in her eyes. “So, I think your husband, mí amigo Brevan McLean…I think his wife’s estomago should grow with a bebé, too. You agree, no? I think it should be my bebé, señora.”

Genieva’s stomach threatened retching, and she turned her face toward Cruz’s then, spitting at him. He shoved her forward violently as a result, and she stumbled to the ground.

“Idiota!” he shouted as he wiped her saliva from his cheek. “I meant to be nice to you, señora. But I see you are proud. I do not like too much pride in a woman.”

“He’ll kill you if you touch me,” Genieva sobbed as Cruz Archuleta took hold of her arm once more, pulling her to her feet.

“Are you so sure, niña? Perhaps he is like my brother, Joaquin. Joaquin cares nothing for his woman now. Maybe your hombre will be the same to you.”

The thought put into Genieva’s head by the evil creature before her imprinted itself on her already insecure mind. Perhaps Brevan would simply turn her out. Yet her reason and knowledge of her husband’s character instantly reaffirmed itself to her.

“He’ll kill you,” she assured him.

“I should do no less,” Joaquin Archuleta said, stepping from behind a nearby piñon tree. “Let the woman go, Cruz. Papá would not send you to do this.”

Turning to Genieva, he mumbled, “You and me…we are not through, niña. And I tell my brother that he should watch behind him from now on…for he is no safer than you or your husband.” Angrily mounting his horse, Cruz Archuleta rode off at a full gallop.

Genieva immediately turned to face Joaquin. He stood pale and somber as he watched his brother ride away.

“
He’s intimidated by you. Thankfully,” she said.

“He is growing confident in himself. It will not be long before he grows impatient with mí padre and does more things that he does not order,” the man told her. “Papá does not wish to kill Brevan or Brian, señora. Only to…to harass Brevan so that he will give him all his lands. I have just been to tell this to Lita.”

“I can’t believe you,” Genieva admitted to him, however. “Cruz attacked Brevan only last night. He…”

“Mí padre knows not of it. Cruz has a bad part in him. I will tell papá what has happened. But your man…Brevan is in danger still. Cruz is having his own reasons now for hating your husband. And he wants to win the lands for my father.” Reaching out and taking Genieva by the shoulders, he frowned, adding, “You must not tell Brevan of this. It is what Cruz wants you to do. It would make Brevan loco with anger, and he would come for Cruz. But Cruz is a coward, and he would wait with other men for your Brevan. Brevan McLean…he is a strong, powerful hombre. But Cruz would have others to help him. You must not tell Brevan of this. Cruz is purposely trying to provoke him.”

“But I can’t keep this from him. I can’t lie to him,” Genieva explained, her eyes pleading with the man for understanding.

“Then you must keep him from coming after Cruz. It is what Cruz wants, señora. He will be too ready for Brevan.” When she had finally nodded in agreement, Joaquin released Genieva. “I must follow Cruz and see him go home. You need to be more careful being out alone. I cannot always be near to help you.” He whistled sharply, and a paint horse appeared from behind another tree some distance from where they stood. Genieva watched as Joaquin mounted the animal, but as he turned it in the direction in which Cruz had ridden, he paused. Looking down at her, he said, “I will tell papá that Lita carries the bebé of her esposo. He will be happy to know the truth,” and he rode away, leaving Genieva alone once more on the path toward home.



Genieva’s anxiety was lessened a little when she saw Travis’s wagon waiting in front of the house. Brenna would give her comfort, and she would find the strength to hide the knowledge from Brevan of her encounter with Cruz. The other
wagon waiting in front of the house, however, was unfamiliar to Genieva. As she ascended the front steps, she wondered who had come from town for a visit.

Upon entering the house, Genieva’s hands flew to silence her gasp as she recognized the gathering of visitors sitting here and there about the room. Brenna and Travis sat among the group, looking pale and uncertain. Her eyes fell to Brevan, who stood leaning in the hallway doorframe, and she let them plead with him for support. How would she endure this? Had the truth already been told in her absence? Was she now the object of so many inquisitive eyes because the entire story—the reason she had come to Brevan—had been revealed to him already?

“Well, hello, Genieva,” her father greeted—his voice thick with sarcasm.

“Father,” Genieva muttered.

“My darling!” her mother chimed, standing and rushing toward Genieva. Her mother gathered her into her arms as if she were a lost kitten. “Oh, my darling! We’ve been so worried!” her mother exclaimed. “How could you, Genieva? How could you do this to us? To worry us so? And to disappoint us in not following through with your duty?”

“Andre was devastated, Nieva!” Genieva’s younger sister, Maureen, scolded. “You’ve simply broken his heart! Not to mention the humiliation that…”

“Enough, Maureen,” Genieva’s father grumbled.

Genieva looked at each member of her family standing before her. Her father, Evert Bankmans—strong, stern, ever frowning. His hair was near to white with his aging, but still he was a handsome man. Her mother, Abigail Jefferson Bankmans, wore the eternal expression of concern she always did. She was still short and plump—her hair as lacking in gray as the day Evert Bankmans had wed her. Maureen was still beautiful and obviously quite aware of the fact. She bore the same hair color as Genieva but had been blessed with a purely perfect complexion, void of freckles. Her eyes, though a lovely shade of brown, were not as intriguing as were Genieva’s. Brevan remained still and composed in the doorframe, but Brenna’s eyes were wide with astonishment, and Travis’s brows arched with the same emotion.

“I can’t believe it,” Genieva’s father muttered, glaring at her—disappointment blatant on his face. “To shame the family so. To promptly run off the day before your engagement was to be announced. The Stewarts are infuriated, Genieva Bankmans.”

“McLean,” Brevan corrected, remaining unmoved—his arms folded determinedly across his broad chest. “Genieva McLean it be now, sir.”

Genieva could see the irritation boldly engraved across her father’s face. No one had ever dared to correct Evert Bankmans! He tried to appear as if he hadn’t heard Brevan’s comment, however. “This is outrageous, Genieva,” her father continued.

Maureen approached her sister then and, dropping her voice, said, “This one is unearthly handsome, Nieva…but to simply brush aside Andre…it just isn’t done. You should hear what people are saying.”

“I don’t care what people are saying, Maureen!” Genieva exclaimed. Turning her attention to her father, she took a deep breath and charged forward verbally, “I’m not something you own as you do a horse or a dog, Father. I’m a human being. An individual, and this is my life. I thank you and mother for giving me my life…but you can’t expect to direct it for your own purposes. I left to find my own way…my own life. And I’ve found it.” She glanced at Brevan briefly and was encouraged when she saw a supportive nod in return. Brenna smiled triumphantly, and Travis gave a heartening wink.

“How dare you talk back to me so, child!” her father bellowed. Taking hold of her arm firmly, he ordered, “Pack your bags at once, Genieva! We’ll straighten this mess out at home!”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” Genieva’s mother whined as Brevan took her gently by the shoulders and moved her aside, advancing on Genieva and her father. Travis too stood firm—defiance apparent in his stance. Brenna looked to Genieva then expectantly to Brevan and back.

As Brevan approached, Genieva’s heart began to pound with a wild force. Would he help her father pack her off to Chicago? He had never wanted her in the first place. It was surely a way out for him.

Yet as Brevan laid one powerful hand on her father’s shoulder, saying, “You’ll be excusin’ me now, Mr. Bankmans,” his eyes told her he would champion her instead. Taking the wrist that her father had held in his grasp, Brevan pulled Genieva to him as he spoke to her father. “You’ll not be takin’ Genieva anywhere, ya won’t. She’s me wife, Mr. Bankmans, legal and otherwise.”

“Brevan,” Genieva pleaded in a whisper as she let herself be bound in his embrace. Her arms slid about his waist—she laid her head against the firm strength of his chest.

“An annulment will not be hard to come by in light of this situation, man,” her father threatened.

“You’ll not have her so long as there’s breath left in me,” Brevan growled. “Besides…to me own knowledge…annulment requires that the marriage is yet unconsummated.”

Genieva tightened her embrace around Brevan as every shred of her soul hoped his attempt to deter her father would not fail. When he groaned slightly, she remembered the wound at his lower back and loosened her embrace.

“Oh, my!” Genieva’s mother gasped. “Cover your ears, Maureen,” she ordered as the youngest daughter’s eyes widened with understanding.

“I’m not doubtin’ that a man who would force his own daughter into a marriage she did not want would be able to kill his own son-in-law,” Brevan said through clenched teeth. Genieva could feel the muscles in his body tightening, and she released him, turning in his arms to face her father. She had meant to meet her father in complete defiance—telling him he would have to kill her as well before she would return with him.

Yet in that same moment one of Brevan’s powerful hands pressed firmly on her stomach, sliding downward and coming to rest directly on her abdomen as he said, “But it be my child she may be a carryin’. What then, Bankmans? Ya would strip a wife and her child of the man they both belong to? Strip yar own daughter of her lover and husband? Yar own grandchild of its father and protector? What kind of a man are ya? Or are ya a man at all now?”